Bad Parent: Baby Bigot
Is my child prejudiced?
by Erin K. Blakeley
November 6, 2008
But until my son started likening dark-skinned humans to animals, I hadn't given any thought to how ridiculous my stated intention was. After all, the phrase itself is almost deliberately noncommittal. A multicultural environment? What does that mean, exactly? Proximity to black people? Dinner table discussions about Martin Luther King? Suddenly, my husband and I found ourselves having to spell out all the vagaries of our own aspirations — a task that forced us to confront some ugly truths.
For starters, I had to come to grips with the fact that we aren't the people we imagined ourselves to be. There are many neighborhoods that are more integrated than ours. We didn't choose to live in one. We told ourselves that it was because of important factors — proximity to work and our friends, to a good subway line and great schools, and open, green space. And all of those things were true. But it is also true that in choosing them, we prioritized those factors above living in a more racially balanced neighborhood. So our commitment to diversity, which I am certain I am guilty of having bragged about at cocktail parties, was not as important as, say, being near the park.
Moreover, I had to accept that my notions of how we pass on values to our children are preposterous. Diversity isn't contagious; being near it isn't enough to make it rub off on you. And equality isn't a theory, like algebra, that can be learned at homework time. For our son to have a significantly different worldview, we had to commit to changing our lifestyle, to selecting institutions that were broadly inclusive, to living in a different neighborhood, to interacting with different people. In short, we'd have to introduce a degree of intent into our parenting, rather than a kumbaya-inspired sense of hope that he will see the world differently simply because we ask him to.
Realizations are one thing; transformations are another. Our transformation has yet to happen. We are starting to look at other neighborhoods, and to figure out ways to socialize with different people. The need to make a change feels urgent right now. But will that urgency remain with us? I honestly don't know.
I had to come to grips with the fact that we aren't the people we imagined ourselves to be.
What I do know is that the "doggie" phase will come to an end. My son's vocabulary will continue to grow, and he will learn some semblance of manners, which will include keeping his observations to himself, or at least to a dull roar. Other people and sounds will occupy his interest — and other issues of parenting will no doubt rise in prominence. Perhaps my husband and I will slide back to the pre-Fishburne days, when we thought the question of our son's character was something that we could muddle through, and we'll tell ourselves that we have more time to figure all this out.
But on some afternoons, when I walk by the public school complex in my neighborhood, I feel the clock ticking. The elementary school is one of the best in the city, boasting two different gifted and talented programs. The high school across the street, on the other hand, has a four-year graduation rate of 35%.
Each day, I watch the largely white student body, some of them bused from all over the city, filter out of the elementary school, and then I see the high school students, who are almost all black and Latino. Both sets of children stream out opposite school doors, a jostling mass of backpacks and blue jeans, so alike in fundamental ways, and so different in others.
And I wonder — if my son goes to one of the programs in that elementary school, how will I answer him when he asks why the kids in his classes are mostly white, but the high schoolers across the street are not?
Or worse, if my husband and I simply put our heads in the sand, do we risk raising a child who never even thinks to ask?
©2008 Erin K. Blakeley and Babble
About the Author
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Erin Blakeley is a freelance writer and journalist whose work has appeared in the Star Ledger, NYC24, and Tiempo, among other publications. She lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts, with her husband and son.
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